


Her sweet Kiss

by Multifangirl69



Series: The Witcher's Sins [2]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Drama & Romance, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Romance, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Werewolves, Witches
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-13 19:21:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28658652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Multifangirl69/pseuds/Multifangirl69
Summary: Geralt and Jaskier meet in a town plagued by a werewolf. On top of that, Jaskier's new flame is the witch responsible for the curse and she isn't happy when Geralt tries to take Jaskier away from her. But the werewolf curse isn't the only thing making their journey difficult. There are also these difficult feelings Geralt has to figure out...
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: The Witcher's Sins [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2094141
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	Her sweet Kiss

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and welcome to my second Witcher fic Electric Bugaloo. Also my second multi chapter fanfiction!  
> This idea came to me because I like werewolves way too much and thought way too much about Werewolf!Jaskier, so here we are! A fanfic full of drama and a brooding witcher trying to figure out if he's in love (Spoiler Alert: He totally is).  
> The mature ranking is for violence and talk of sex, BUT I give you guys the following choice: Do you want me to include smut? It wouldn't be much, but I know how much people love smut (me included). Just tell me in the comments how you feel :3c  
> Please leave a comment in general, compliments or complaints, I take everything (but I'm also a fragile soul, so please don't yell at me)! With that, I'll leave you! Please enjoy Chapter 1!!

Geralt could never decide if it was luck or if maybe people were right after all and he really attracted beasts like light attracts moths. Luck or not, he had just finished up the last monster hunt when rumors of a werewolf attack reached him. Once again, he threw away his actual plan and, early in the morning, he saddled Roach to follow the instructions given to him to Denhaven.

Not a big town, for all Geralt knew, but an important farming community in the area, mainly because of their sheeps and cows. Even a regular wolf would be disastrous, but a werewolf? Unthinkable. If the rumors proved to be true, Geralt expected the town to be generous with payment.

The ride only took a day, even with a break in between. He still had three nights ‘til the next full moon; plenty of time to find out what happened and to prepare for the fight. A shame he would need to sacrifice his new silver chain so soon.

As the sun settled high in the sky, the edge of the town opened up to the Witcher, welcoming him with friendly greetings and bright smiles. Here and there, someone stopped in surprise, but no one seemed to mind his presence. The young stable boy stuttered with every answer when Geralt questioned him, though his eyes sparked with more curiosity than fear.

“I don’t know much about the werewolf attack, but you will find a bard in the tavern who came here shortly after and snooped around. Perhaps he can help your search, Witcher.” A simple nod from the white wolf and the stable boy lowered his head again, turning away to fill the trough. 

Geralt patted his horse’s back once more before turning on his heel. He followed the muddy street, observing the people walking past him. None of them fled from his presence. None of them minded when he stepped close. Unusual, but Geralt almost appreciated the quiet walk. 

He reached the tavern just a few turns away from the stables, where soft music spilled from the open windows, luring in every tired adventurer. The door swung open without a sound and Geralt stepped inside. A few heads turned, but all the attention laid on the bard. His voice, in perfect rhythm with his lute, filled the room just like the sweet scent of apple wine and honey-roasted meat. Geralt didn’t need to see the bard’s face to know who he was, but seeing it anyway filled him with a warm sensation.

He kept close to the wall where the dim candles didn’t reach. Just the bare sunlight painted his sneaking figure, but the bard was occupied anyway. Disappointment hardened those familiar features as the melody came to an end and the crowd applauded with the bare minimum of excitement. A few didn’t even put down their tankards. 

Geralt watched Jaskier break from the middle of the small crowd and take a seat at one of the tables. He drew closer, but waited as the barmaid brought over a well filled mug. She stayed a moment longer, telling the bard how well he sang. He retorted with a smile and a quick thanks, but dropped his head with a sigh as soon as the maiden turned her back.

“I’m surprised you didn’t sing about me,” Geralt simply said, sitting down across from the bard.

“Geralt!” Jaskier straightened his back at the sight of the Witcher and almost tipped over his tankard with excited gestures. His enthusiasm wasn’t shared, not outwardly at least. Geralt bit his tongue and swallowed any good words crawling up his throat, but indulged in the bright smile given to him.

“Who tells you that I didn’t? Do you wanna hear it?”

Jaskier’s eyes glimmered and Geralt swallowed again, his fingers curling tight against the table surface. Oh, the things this bard did to him. The heat crawling up his spine, the way his heartbeat quickens, the sweetest need burning at his fingertips. Something about Jaskier drew Geralt in like a siren’s call. Something he couldn’t name.

"Perhaps another time. With a better audience." Geralt's gaze darted around them for a moment, noting everyone who hadn’t clapped for the bard. He would never say it, knowing it would go to the bard’s head, but Jaskier did have talent. And here Geralt was, feeling obligated to curse everyone who didn’t appreciate said talent.

Himself included. Unfortunately, the Witcher didn’t miss the pout curling the bard’s soft lips and the resulting strain deep in his chest.

Geralt glanced back at Jaskier, maintaining their eye contact rather than looking over at the woman bringing them another beer. Amber eyes narrowed into slits at the heavy smell mixing in the air and he wondered how the bard could drink this without throwing up. 

"What brings you to Denhaven?" Geralt straightened his back and pushed aside the drink. "Let me guess. It’s the werewolf rumors.”

“Of course! I thought I could write an epic ballad, but I must say that I’m disappointed.” Jaskier took a sip from his beer, a heavy sigh spilling from his lips. He hunched over a little and a need to touch the bard itched in Geralt’s hands.

“Disappointed? That’s new,” he replied simply, daring to take a sip after all. The foul taste crawled heavily down his throat and he shivered, coughing and shaking his head.

“It’s bad, isn’t it?” Jaskier laughed and that sound pushed aside everything else, leaving a much sweeter spark. 

“Well, at least I have Loreleil to keep me company. Less time wasted,” he continued, lifting the mug back to his lips. 

Geralt’s expression dropped a little and he scoffed, ignoring the strange sensation pulling at his chest. Instead, he watched the bard take a few more swallows of his beer, a smile accompanying his next words.

“I’m sure you’re going to be disappointed too, Geralt.”

“And why is that?”

“Because not much happened. I’m not even sure it was really a werewolf. Only one attack, no one died.” Jaskier leaned a little closer over the table, his smile widening into a grin. “But at least you’re here now. I missed our adventures.”

“Werewolves are only active during the full moon. One attack is all I expect.” 

The Witcher narrowed his eyes and shook his head. Jaskier hadn’t learned anything, still as reckless and naive as ever. If only he could hate the man more for it, but deep down, the annoyance dissolved into worry. Geralt didn’t want the bard to get hurt again. The Djinn debacle had been plenty enough.

“The next full moon is in 3 days though, so I will stay until then.” Geralt tightened his grip on the tankard once more and dared another sip. Just as bad, but the piss colored liquid flowed down easier this time, leaving him only with a sour expression. 

“Well, if you insist. There is only one person who was attacked, but he survived. So you could talk to him,” Jaskier threw in, unsure, holding back with his words. Geralt didn’t question why. He just pushed the beer aside and placed a hand on the table, slowly pushing himself back on his feet.

“So you know that survivor? Where is he?” Geralt stepped around the table to Jaskier’s side, one hand adjusting the belt around his chest. Bright blue eyes, like a restless ocean, glanced up at him, a small smile curling the bard’s lips. The strain lifted from Geralt’s chest. At least for now.

“Of course I know! You still underestimate me, that hurts.” Jaskier placed a hand over his chest and shook his head, but the smile grew and he got to his feet as well. Geralt didn’t move though, not even when Jaskier stood so close their breaths mingled between them.

“Are you okay?” Geralt questioned, wondering why he did. And so did Jaskier. He stared back at the witcher, like he’d been burned with a torch.

“Oh, yes. I’m fine! Now,” Jaskier pushed himself past Geralt, his gaze wandering and fixating on the front door. “Follow me! I don’t think you will find anything, but what do people say? Better safe than sorry.”

The bard led Geralt out of the tavern, both breathing in the fresh air deeply. Or as fresh as it could be called. Geralt couldn’t say if he prefered the dung on the streets or the strong alcohol inside. He decided the mud might be better, at least he didn’t feel like throwing up anymore.

“What do you know about werewolves? Did you ever fight one before?” Jaskier questioned, walking backwards for a moment until Geralt caught up.

“I fought a werewolf before, yes.”

Once again, Jaskier walked so close, never aware of personal space. Geralt leaned in a little closer, subtle as he could be. The sweetness of wine lingered on Jaskier’s clothes and a shiver chased along Geralt’s spine. Underneath the apple, there was still the bard’s usual earthy scent. So familiar, because it always seemed to stick around for weeks.

“Dangerous, but they can be cured,” Geralt continued. “At least the ones who got cursed in their lifetime and weren’t born with it. But those born with it have the saving grace of more control over their transformation.”

Geralt glanced down at Jaskier, tilting his head a little to watch the way the man's expression changed ever so slightly with every gesture and word. Soft. That was all he could think when looking at the bard.

“A new werewolf will soon be cured thanks to you!” Jaskier threw a hand above his head, his other, he placed above his heart again.

“Maybe. We have to see.” The Witcher shook his head and scoffed, though neither action perturbed the bard for even a moment.

“Don’t be so humble, I’ve seen the things you can do. This will make a great song. Of course, you will be the first one to hear it.”

Geralt scoffed once more. Not to diminish Jaskier's excitement, but simply because he couldn't think of any way to make this adventure interesting. To be fair, this was routine for the Witcher; the wonders had stopped years ago. But for Jaskier, they had just begun, and Geralt had to admit he was jealous of that.

"One day you won’t have a choice but to say my song is good and that I am the best bard you ever listened to!" 

Jaskier bowed dramatically, closing his eyes and smiling bright. Geralt just barely grabbed the bard's arm to pull him out the way of a few running children, practically pressing the smaller man against him in the process. Jaskier responded with a curious glance at the Witcher’s face. 

Geralt couldn't help but lean in a little closer, indulging in the man's scent. A warm tingle spread in his guts and his muscles relaxed.

But just for a moment.

Somewhere underneath the sweet and the familiar, another scent crept through the surface. Strong mint, reminding Geralt of medicine. This was nothing like Jaskier, not the bard who always smelt of wood and earth, raw like the forest itself. This was someone else.

"I can't say if we can cure this werewolf. I have to know how they got cursed in the first place." Geralt slowly backed away, loosening his grip on Jaskier's arm until his hand slipped away. "Most of the time, the cause is a witch."

"So you will have to find the witch and then? You think she will remove the curse if you ask?" Jaskier swayed to the side, a step away from the other man, and dropped his gaze to his feet. 

For just a moment longer, Geralt observed the bard, but focused back on the muddy road in front. From afar, he spotted a young woman walking their way, a bright smile on her porcelain face. She stood out with her clean dress, a pale blue, hugging her curves like water. A braided mane of olive hair bounced with every step, growing all the way down to her hips.

Geralt slowed down and observed her every move.

"I can't be sure if a witch is behind it. That’s why I have to find the werewolf and capture him." 

“You better not do this behind my back, Geralt. I want to be there so I can compose another great song!” A smile accompanied the words as always. 

Jaskier moved the belt trapped around his chest and pulled his lute to his front, strumming the thin strings with closed eyes, not bothered by the goings on in the street. How one could be so self-assured of his own immortality was beyond Geralt. 

The Witcher stopped walking when the woman, just a few steps in front, did the same. Her moss eyes glimmered, but instead of speaking to the witcher, she turned her head towards Jaskier. 

"Dear, I've been looking for you!" She practically jumped the man, humming sweetly as her slim arms embraced the bard. Jaskier stiffened in her hug and his smile stuttered. But just as quickly realization softened the bard’s expression.

“Loreleil!” Jaskier returned the hug, the touch so intimate, Geralt felt like he was invading their privacy.

“I am here and I am fine, darling.” Slowly, they melted apart and Jaskier gestured over to the Witcher, moving his lute onto his back again. “Let me introduce you to my friend! Loreleil, Geralt! Geralt, Loreleil!”

Loreleil glanced from her lover over to the Witcher. Geralt returned the nod she gave him, but his fingers twitched around the belt fastened around his chest, his swords so close to grab. 

The woman narrowed her eyes, but never dropped her smile. Her long fingers curled around Jaskier’s elbow and she pulled him against her perky chest. Something shifted in the man’s expression, tugging at his smile.

"Oh, of course. Geralt of Rivia. I heard a lot about you, Witcher. Are all the stories true?" she questioned, tilting her head with an innocent bounce Geralt knew so well. Easy to see why Jaskier fell for her so quickly. 

"Stories tend to be exaggerated-" Geralt glanced at Jaskier for just a moment before returning his attention to the woman "-so no." 

"How disappointing." Loreleil pressed herself against the bard, her bosom a maw for the innocent man and Geralt's whole chest heaved with a sharp inhale. He told himself that he didn't like the play because he didn’t trust the woman, but something deep inside clawed at his heart. Something he really didn't want to name. 

"But I guess you're here for the werewolf?" 

"Yes." 

"I always wanted to watch a Witcher work. Can I join your little adventure?" Loreleil looked at Jaskier and back to Geralt, smiling so sweet. 

"No. Jaskier-" Geralt turned his attention towards his friend again. "Show me where the survivor lives and then you should leave town. Werewolves are dangerous enough when I'm on my own." 

"Leave town?" Loreleil gasped, shocked, offended. Her dark eyes widened, shining in the dim sunlight like she was about to cry as she stared up at Jaskier, who simply nodded in response.

“Yes, Geralt is right. You better go away for a few days.” Jaskier smiled again, this time with something else underlining the usual brightness. Something that was enough to make Geralt forget how the bard completely misunderstood his suggestion. Instead of correcting Jaskier, he just watched the bard gesture around them while holding Loreleil’s hand in his.

"I'll come see you when it's over. Then we will spend a day or two more together. I will tell you all about Geralt's exploits against the werewolf, sing to you and the rest of this city even if they don't deserve my talent. This will be my gift before my departure!"

Jaskier looked over to the Witcher and his smile softened. Loreleil gritted her teeth and knitted her perfect eyebrows, but she found her smile once again when the bard turned back to her. 

The flaw in her expression wasn’t missed by Geralt’s keen sight. Neither did he miss the dark spark in her eyes. He stepped a little closer and placed a steady hand on Jaskier's back, gently pushing him away from Loreleil. She swayed closer too and bitter mint dripped heavy in the air

"We have to go now. You two can discuss this later." 

"Right. Sure. Good luck, Witcher," Loreleil said, her words like poisonous honey. Silently, Geralt nodded and watched her walk away. Only when she was out of hearing range did he look at Jaskier again, his hand still pressed against the blue jerkin. 

"She's a witch. You should be careful around her," he whispered, leaning in so close Jaskier could probably feel his hot breath on his skin. Not probably, actually. A shudder along the bard’s spine was all the answer Geralt needed to know for sure.

"When you’ve shown me to the survivor, you will leave this town immediately. No talking to her. No running after me. You will leave."

“A witch? Are you sure?” Jaskier turned chest to chest with Geralt and the Witcher’s hand slipped onto the bard’s shoulder instead. The blue ocean was restless again, entangled with dark currents that worried Geralt more than anything else.

“Yes. I’m sure.” He dropped his hand to the bard’s jerkin collar and gripped tight. “Now listen to me, Jaskier-”

“No! I won’t leave town! You think I can just leave with all this new information? A waste of an opportunity,” Jaskier said, placing his hand on top of Geralt’s, so warm against the Witcher’s pale skin.

“This is serious-”

“I’m serious too, Geralt.”

“Stop interrupting me!”

“So you can tell me to leave?”

Neither moved an inch. Geralt’s heartbeat quickened and his guts coiled around a deep seated tingle. Everything about Jaskier printed itself into his senses, overwhelming his nose with fresh wood, his touch with the warmth of skin and his sight with the stormy sea challenging him to stop its mighty force.

Geralt dropped his hand to his side and broke the silence with a heavy sigh.

“Fine,” he said, stepping back. “You can come, but only if you do exactly what I say.”

“Oh, don’t worry, mighty Witcher, I will follow your every command.” Jaskier bowed down so far, Geralt expected him to fall over. But no. Graceful as a woman, the bard straightened his posture again, lips curled with amusement.

“Of course. How could I have ever doubted you, great bard?” Geralt shook his head, but a short laugh crept from his lips. The sound didn’t go unnoticed, and Jaskier watched with curious eyes.

“The big, bad wolf can laugh after all.”

“But you can’t shut up.”

Both smiled. Geralt was more reserved, his smile so small Jaskier could only spot it because he stood so close. But it was there, and the Witcher actually struggled to drop it again. There were other, more serious matters to discuss though.

“Now, why don’t you finally introduce me to the survivor?” Geralt turned and started walking again, Jaskier following soon after. The bard took the lead once again. Not just when it came to walking. He remembered the last town he visited and talked about a stray dog that followed him everywhere. A familiar story that Geralt gladly listened to.


End file.
